


Troop 842

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Comment Fic 2016 [47]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, outside pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:39:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: "Stargate Multiverse, Evan Lorne + Any, de-aged Evan is the best Boy Scout ever."</p><p>Outsider POV. The de-aged soldiers of AR-3 are Cub Scouts for a day.</p><p>Just a little bit crack-y.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Troop 842

Lisa didn’t know what to make of the little Bear Cubs from Troop 842. Their leader, an incredibly handsome man with spiky dark hair and bright hazel eyes and who looked suspiciously good in his leader uniform, registered the four of them on the spot, with neatly filled-out paperwork and cash. He accepted his red leader band and fixed it around his left wrist beside his watch - he wore a black wristband on his right wrist - and then handed the blue scout bands to one little boy. Given the fact that the boy had a patrol leader patch on his uniform shirt, Lisa supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that he turned and immediately began distributing the bands to the other boys, instructing them to all put them on their left wrists and gently helping the smallest boys who were having difficulty handling the task one-handed.

“Well?” another man asked. He, too, was wearing a leader shirt, and he was also handsome, with bright blue eyes and broad shoulders and a frankly sinful mouth.

“Almost done, Rodney.”

The woman behind the registration table handed the first leader his den’s schedule for the day, a couple of cards for earning extra beads, and also the camp dog tags. 

“Lorne,” the man said, eyeing the dog tags with no small amount of amusement, “hand these out?”

The little patrol leader, who had fluffy dark hair and also bright blue eyes - Rodney’s son, perhaps? Although Rodney wore no wedding ring - scrambled to obey with a perfectly military, “Yes, sir.”

Lorne barked for his den mates - four of them - to line up, just like a little drill sergeant, and to Lisa’s amazement, they did. She doubted their discipline would last long, but it was still early and cool up in the mountain, and it was cute to see the boys trying to be so grown up.

But something about the way Lorne reached into his pocket and drew out a pocket knife and flicked it open with casual ease was a little disconcerting. He cut the paper off one set of tags, handed it to the first boy in line, told the boy to pick up the paper and save it as a start on collecting ten pieces of trash to collect a trash bead, and the boy nodded and said  _ Yes sir _ and rotated to the back of the line.

Once all of the tags were distributed, Lorne fell into place at the head of the line and turned to face his leaders. “Sir?”

“Let’s head on over to the others and wait for the opening ceremony,” the first leader said.

Rodney peered over his shoulder. “What’s first?”

“Building things,” the first leader said. “Looks like we have to rendezvous with our den guide beforehand, though. Our den guide will be carrying a flag for -” He snorted. “Wingnut Jack.”

Rodney looked confused.

Lisa did a silent victory dance. They were with the same den guide.

“For General Jack O’Neill,” she said. “One of the founding members of the Stargate Program.”

Rodney’s expression turned pinched. “You hear that, John? They’re celebrating the Stargate Program.”

“So soon after declassification,” John murmured, and he looked terribly amused. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“I’m Lisa, by the way,” she said. “One of the assistant den leaders for Troop 675. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at Round Table.”

“Nice to meet you, Lisa,” John said, and he had a warm, firm handshake. “This is my co-leader, Rodney. We don’t usually do the roundtable thing.”

“Hello,” Rodney said, and while his handshake was also firm and confident, Lisa had the notion that he didn’t like her much.

“So, is it just the five boys?”

John blinked, startled, as if just remembering his cubs, but the five of them were sitting on one of the logs, their little backpacks at their feet, gazing straight ahead.

“Yes, just the five. Lorne, Reed, Walker, Coughlin, and Stevens.”

He called them by their last names. Very military indeed. But he certainly didn’t look like a soldier.

“How many do you have?” John asked.

“Eight,” Lisa said. The den leader, Marisa, was still buying lunches for the boys. She’d be there soon. And she was married, so she wouldn’t look twice at John or Rodney. Maybe.

Lisa spotted Marisa and the boys trailing behind her, most of them shivering and complaining about the cold - John’s boys were silent, though a couple of them were flinching from the early morning chill - and Lisa made introductions, noticed the way Marisa looked Rodney and John up and down appreciatively. Rodney noticed and turned red, but John didn’t, just smiled his pleasant smile.

The opening ceremony was the raising of the flag and the pledge of allegiance, the rules skit, and announcements about ways to earn extra beds. And then the den guides - teenagers with unbelievable amounts of enthusiasm - were calling for their cubs and leaders to rally around them. Their den guide was a teenage girl named Harriet. When she asked who wanted to carry their little den flag - featuring a photo of Jack O’Neill in his SG-1 uniform - to the first rotation, Lorne raised his hand first, and when Harriet handed him the flag, he held it high. His den mates fell into a neat line behind him, and they actually marched. In unison. Lisa’s boys, most of whom had been at camp the year before as Wolves, were prepared to race ahead and stomp across the troll bridge as loudly as possible, but they hesitated, unsure of what to do.

“Mom,” Kevin said, tugging on Lisa’s sleeve, “what are they doing?”

“Marching, I guess,” Lisa said. John and Rodney strolled along behind them, John with his hands in his pockets like it was a nice day, Rodney with an expression like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“They’re weird,” Kevin said, and Lisa shushed him, darted a glance at John, but he didn’t seem to have noticed.

Lorne deposited the flag in its stand next to the canopy erected over a long wooden table, and then he and his den mates even sat down as one. One of the teen guides explained about the day’s carpentry project - little homemade catapults for shooting marshmallows - and about rules for using tools.

Lisa strolled up and down the bench behind her boys, reminding them to sit still and listen, but of course John’s boys sat with their hands in their laps, listening to the activity guide with silent attention. They raised their hands to answer questions, and Lisa, who was long used to the slightly rambling answers of nine-year-old boys, was surprised by how concise and precise their answers were.

“It’s an awl, sir, used to pierce holes in tough materials like leather for stitching.”

“A planer, sir. To make the surface of wooden boards level.”

They were so polite. John hung back, watching, amused. Rodney looked baffled when Harriet handed him beads for his boys. Rodney held out the handful of beads to John, who stared at him for a moment. 

This was her chance. Lisa sidled closer to John - who also wore no wedding ring - and said, in a low voice, “They’re for the boys. To go on their dog tags. They get a bead at every rotation, plus extra beads for picking up trash or whatever.”

“Right,” John said. “Thanks.” He crouched down next to Lorne, held out the beads, and murmured instructions.

Lorne nodded and immediately unfastened his necklace, slipped a bead onto it, and fastened it back up with uncanny dexterity. He held the handful of beads out, and each of his den mates took one and also fixed them in place. Reed, the tiniest of them all, had a little trouble getting his chain unfastened, so Lorne helped him with gentle hands, and then they were all paying attention to the activity guide again.

Lisa rued the day wooden mallets were introduced as part of the construction process, because she was pretty sure she was going to go deaf with all the banging. She stepped up to mediate a dispute between Kevin and Aidan, who were squabbling over a mallet.

“Just four taps,” Lorne reminded Stevens, tapping obediently away at his pre-cut and drilled dowel rods, and then he handed the mallet down the line.

Rodney was eyeing the completed catapult with critical intensity.

“You know,” he said to John in a low voice, “if they adjusted the length of the arm and the angle of the ammo rest, the projectile would -”

“Not the time, Rodney,” John said.

Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Are you an engineer?”

“I have PhDs in both physics and mechanical engineering,” Rodney said.

“Wow,” Lisa said. “Very smart.”

“Smartest man in two -”

John dug an elbow into Rodney’s ribs, and he fell silent.

After the test firing of marshmallows, it was time to rotate again. Lorne asked the activity guide for a box to carry the catapults in. He labeled each catapult with a crayon - and he had neat handwriting - and placed it in the box, and he assigned Stevens to carry the box for the rest of the day, which Stevens assented to without complaint.

“Your boys are so well-behaved,” Lisa said. “How do you do it?”

“It’s really not us,” John said. “I don’t think they really need us. Lorne has it all under control. We’re just along for liability purposes.”

“I can see why he’s the patrol leader,” Lisa said. “My boys are kind of wild.”

“Well, they’re nine-year-old boys,” John pointed out.

Kevin was excited when he got to carry their flag to the next rotation, which was shooting BB guns. Lisa actually wasn’t much a fan of guns or the Second Amendment, but all of Kevin’s friends were in scouts and she didn’t want him to feel left out, so he got to shoot a BB gun at camp with the rest of them. The old man who taught marksmanship had a necklace made of bullets and shotgun shells and had probably served in WWII he was so old, but he had good safety advice. He showed the boys how to figure out which eye was dominant, and he showed them firing stance.

“Now, see how my rifle is moving up and down? Why is that happening?”

Lorne raised his hand.

“Why, son?”

“You’re breathing, sir. Always exhale right before squeezing the trigger.”

“Right you are, son.”

The other boys looked surprised. Lisa hadn’t thought shooting a rifle was that technical a skill, but there was so much to remember. John and Rodney stood at the back with little backpacks and the box of catapults at their feet. Rodney was scribbling in a notebook, but John was watching as his boys filed up to get their safety glasses and take their marks.

There were enough rifles that a couple of leaders could try shooting if they wanted.

“You going?” Rodney asked.

“Not a chance,” John said.

Lisa wondered if he disliked guns, too.

Kevin said, “Mom, come on!”

Lisa hesitated, but Kevin cast that pleading look at her, and she knew it was hard for him, with his dad constantly missing weekend visitation in favor of his new family, and she had to be both mom and dad, and dad would have joined in with shooting without a second’s thought, so she smiled at stepped up.

She pulled on the cheap plastic safety glasses and waited till the activity guide told them to pick up their rifles.

“Ma’am,” Lorne said.

Lisa blinked.

“The safety’s still on. Won’t fire if the safety’s on. Will jam if you dry fire with the safety on.” He gaze up at her, blue eyes solemn.

Lisa stared down at the rifle. “Oh, I -”

Lorne reached out. “May I?”

Lisa nodded, and Lorne showed her where the safety button was (black for safe, red for fire - like red for danger), and then he stepped back into place. Down the line, Kevin was asking when they’d get to fire.

“When everyone’s ready,” the activity guide said.

Once Lisa was ready, the guide told them to ready, aim, and fire. 

“You’ve got good shooting stance, son,” the old man said to Lorne, who had the butt of the rifle snug against his shoulder, cheek resting on the stock.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Your old man teach you to shoot?”

“Something like that, sir.”

The tiny toy rifle didn’t feel real in Lisa’s hands, and she flinched every time she pulled the trigger. And cocking it again was tough. She had to lower the rifle, crank on the lever, and then raise it back to her shoulder between each shot. Lorne, she noticed, could crank on the lever with one hand, never losing his shooting stance, just like a little soldier. What had been cute at first was fast becoming creepy.

After five volleys, the activity guide told the boys he was going to count down from thirty, and they could fire as many times as they wanted till he got to zero. Given how slow Lisa was at cocking, aiming, and firing, she doubted she’d get many shots in.

But the boys cheered, and the guide starting counting down, and - damn. Next to Lisa, Lorne and his den mates were firing so fast, never breaking stance to cock, over and over again, and Lisa was pretty sure they were hitting, too, because she could hear pings off of the metal targets at the other end of the firing range.

And then one of the boys said, “I’m out,” and laid his rifle down, stepped back. It was little Reed. Walker, Coughlin, Stevens, and Lorne followed in rapid succession.

“I was first,” Reed said, and there, Lisa recognized that little-boy arrogance. Walker, Coughlin, and Stevens all chorused the Marine  _ ooh-rah! _ Lorne rolled his eyes but said nothing.

The activity guide reached zero, and immediately the rest of the boys began bragging about how good their shooting was. Lorne and his den were quiet as they returned their safety glasses, but when they made it back to the benches and sat down, Reed twisted around to look up at John, expression hopeful, and John patted his shoulder carefully.

“Good shooting, sergeant.”

Reed preened under the praise, and then it was eyes front while Harriet rallied them. 

All day, Lisa watched John and Rodney’s little den, and she was both amazed and a little horrified. Stevens proved especially proficient at knots, challenged staff to knots and won multiple tokens to use at the general store. During the boating activity, the boat with all of Lorne’s den in it was the only one that traveled where it was supposed to, because Lorne’s boys rowed in perfect unison, responding to his commands like a well-oiled machine. The other boys in the boat quickly deferred to the natural command in Lorne’s tone, and while the other boats were bumping into each other and the boys were splashing each other with paddles, Lorne’s boat traveled the perimeter of the pond and the boys collected the colored balls that Harriet had challenged them to retrieve.

The entire time, John watched in quiet amusement, Rodney scribbled in his notebook, and neither of them responded much to any of the other den leaders’ attempts to draw them into conversation, Lisa included.

At the lunch break, Lisa stayed near John and Rodney’s den while Marisa took the boys to pick up the lunches she’d ordered for them. Each of John and Rodney’s boys had little lunches in their backpacks.

Stevens bit into his sandwich with a happy sigh. “PB&J, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Rodney snapped.

Stevens rolled his eyes and kept on chewing.

Walker tore into his lunch box and went straight for the pudding cup. “Hey, this is chocolate. Who’s got vanilla? I’ll trade for vanilla.”

Lorne immediately paused in his consumption of his sandwich and pawed in his lunch box. “I have vanilla rice.”

“Hey now,” John protested, “those lunches were made with love.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Walker said, “you didn’t make these for us.” He traded his pudding cup with Lorne and began eating it.

“You should eat your sandwich first,” Rodney said.

Walker shook his head. “Nope. Life is short. Eat dessert first.”

Coughlin was eating his potato chips by the fistful. “He’s always been that way, no matter where or when we’re eating.”

John raised his eyebrows.

“It’s true, sir,” Lorne said.

“Once you finish your food,” Rodney said, “you should scout around for some trash and those signs, earn some extra beads.”

The boys exchanged looks, and Rodney added a half-hearted  _ ooh-rah _ for good measure.

Stevens finished his food first, dusted his hands off on his shorts, and stood up. “All right. Let’s go, boys.” Walker, Coughlin, and Reed wolfed down the last of their food and followed him.

“You going with them?” John asked.

Lorne shook his head. “Nope.”

John leaned in, peered at Lorne. “Are you all right? You been drinking enough water?”

Lorne flushed faint pink. “I’m fine, sir. I’ve been staying hydrated.”

“You know Jennifer will kill me if I don’t bring you back in one piece,” John said.

“It’s just half a day, sir.” Lorne finished his lunch and threw away his trash, then actually sprawled out on the log and closed his eyes.

Marisa returned with Kevin and the boys, and Lisa turned her attention to them, dispensing wet wipes and napkins and the like. John and Rodney, she noticed, were also eating homemade lunches. John was scanning the campsite, keeping track of his boys, while Rodney gnawed on his sandwich and stared at his notebook some more.

“Verdict?” John asked once Rodney closed his notebook.

“I’d need Heightmeyer or another base psych to test them,” Rodney said, “but it looks like they’ve retained primary functionality, including attention span and focus, but they are hampered by the physiological limits of their current state.”

“That’s good, but I meant about the machine.”

“Oh. Well.” Rodney paused. “That’s a bit trickier.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I have to.”

“If you can’t,” Lorne said, without opening his eyes or sitting up, “there are some excellent stealth opportunities, you realize.”

“The brass would never let us -” John began.

Lorne shrugged. “What the brass doesn’t know…”

Rodney actually looked thoughtful. John shook his head. 

“No. Not an option. Now come on, let’s get this day over with. And Lorne,” he said, so soft that Lisa didn’t think she was supposed to hear, “tone it down a little. You’re nine.”

Lorne sighed. “Yes, sir.”

After lunch was the nature hike, which Lisa thought was particularly ill-timed right after lunch in the heat of the day, because all of the boys were flagging, even John and Rodney’s. Along the trail they kept pausing to get drinks out of their backpacks. The boys perked up at the last activity of the day, which was archery.

Lisa really shouldn’t have been surprised that Lorne hit the bullseye on his first shot. John cleared his throat pointedly, and Lorne continued firing. He didn’t get another arrow in the bullseye, but Lisa realized that, for however scattered his shots looked, he’d landed one arrow in every single band of color on the target. 

He really was an uncanny child.

But a damn good cub scout. The old man who’d overseen the BB guns was also overseeing the archery, and he knelt down to speak to Lorne.

“You’re mighty talented, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Ever thought of joining the armed forces when you grow up?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’d make a fine Marine.”

Lorne made a face, and his den mates snickered.

“I’d join the Air Force, sir.”

The old man looked dubious. “Really?”

“Yes, sir. I’d want to fly.” 

“Think about it, son.” The old man clapped Lorne on the shoulder and straightened up.

Lisa leaned over to John. “So, which boy is yours?”

John blinked. “What?”

Obviously Stevens, who was African-American, wasn’t John’s. Unless he was adopted?

“None of them,” John said. “Not - biologically. Or legally. I’m just their leader. Me and Rodney both.”

“How do you get them so well-behaved?”

“Push-ups,” John said. “Lots and lots of push-ups if they misbehave.”

Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

John smiled. “Really.”

Lorne led the rest of his den mates back to John and Rodney to pick up their backpacks and the box of catapults, and then it was time for the closing ceremony.

John, Lorne, and the rest of his boys watched the lowering of the flag with a solemnity in their eyes Lisa couldn’t quite understand, especially since she was hissing last-minute reminders to her boys to take off their hats and hold still.

And then...camp was over. John hollered for his boys to form up, and they immediately sorted themselves into a neat line (always the same order, Lorne at the front, followed by Stevens, then Walker, Coughlin, and Reed, some unspoken hierarchy - age, maybe?). Before they could march for the parking lot, a cell phone began to ring.

John patted himself down. “I don’t think it’s me.”

Lisa frowned. “There’s no cell service up here.”

Rodney patted himself down. “Satellite phone. Hang on.” He reached into his pocket, drew out one cell phone, but it was dead. He patted himself down some more, found another cell phone, flipped it open. “Go for McKay. What? Yes, it’s just about over, we’re going to head to the van. Wait, what? When? We’ll be there as soon as -” Rodney lowered the phone, peered at it. “Oh, dear.”

“Bad news?” Lorne asked.

“Well, good. Zelenka fixed the machine. Caldwell said he was coming to pick us up.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Caldwell? But -”

And just like that, John, Rodney, and their five little boys were swallowed in a beam of golden light. They vanished, leaving no trace behind.

“Well, that was weird,” Lisa said, blinking.

Kevin huffed and rolled his eyes. “I told you they were weird.”


End file.
